


She Got Both Feet on the Ground

by QueSeraAwesome



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artificial Intelligence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Carolina Appreciation Week, Carolina gets Sigma, It doesn't go like you think, M/M, Mental Anguish, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2447882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraAwesome/pseuds/QueSeraAwesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's another reason you don't get Sigma, Agent Carolina.<br/>It isn't the one you think it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Got Both Feet on the Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric borrowed from Alicia Keys's "Girl on Fire." Fic contains non-explicit sexual content and depictions of mental trauma. Character vomits at one point.

Your mother dies and you go for a run. Down the street. Around the block. You run to school. Your loop the track, pound up and down the stairs after school, you run until you wear the soles off your shoes. You get new shoes. You wear those down too.

"You’re on fire, Carolina!" they say as you cross the finish line, number one again. "You’re on fire, Carolina!" when you graduate 9th in your class, but a hotly contested recruit for several military academies (All of them). You turn them all down. Enlist as a marine. Like your mom.

"You’re on fire, Carolina!" as your feet pound you through Basic. "You’re on fire, Carolina!" as you climb the ranks, as you break records, win awards for combat excellence, for hand-to-hand. You’re at your peak and climbing, rising and your rising star takes you deep into UNSC special projects, the kind no one hears about, takes you right into Project Freelancer.

You get Sigma.

It isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.

*

 _Interesting._ Sigma says, poking at your memories of your father before the beard began to gray. Before the furrows made their home on his forehead. Before his eyes stopped smiling.

You let him poke. You’re going to have to work together, after all.

Keep it quiet, alright? You ask. I don’t need any favors.

 _Indeed,_ Sigma agrees, fanning through your memories. _I believe we will make an excellent partnership, Agent Carolina_.

The avatar he chooses has no helmet, unlike the others. He stands in flames. A thousand means of expression at his command, at his choosing, and he chooses a face and fire.

Sigma is creativity, they tell you. He is ambition. He will help you burn brighter.

You think they’re probably right.

*

You visit Maine in Recovery. His throat is a mess of bandages. You have one, taped neatly to the back of your neck.

You hesitate in the doorway, for just a moment. A moment that grows longer.

“Poor thing,” you overhear one of the nurses whisper. “He’ll never speak again.”

“He speaks just fine,” you interrupt. The nurse shrieks and jumps. He must not have heard you behind him. “You just have to learn how to listen.”

You stalk past the shame-faced nurse to Maine’s bedside, aggressively seat yourself down in the chair placed there. He must have had other visitors. It has been a few days, since he regained consciousness. This is the first you have been able to bring yourself to see him.

“Hey, buddy,” you say. “Feeling better?”

Sigma is watching quietly behind your eyes. Maine shrugs, nods. Winces just the tiniest bit around his eyes as the bandages crinkle with his movements.

“I need you on your feet,” you tell him. “There’s nobody on the team I can kick out a window anymore.”

He huffs at you.

“It’s true. You know any of the rest of them would just fuck it up.”

The corners of his mouth twitch. High hilarity. Your Agent Maine is practically Vulcan in this way. The tiniest of twitches speak volumes of emotion.

“How long until they let you put your helmet back on?” you ask.

You know it must be bothering him. Agent Maine is not a person who enjoys air or sunlight on his skin. One of those Spartan types. All this exposure must be driving him nuts.

He shrugs. You decide to ask the medics before you leave. If they can be so unscrupulous as to allow York to escape that many times before they cleared him, they can allow Maine to put his helmet back on a few days early.

You think about taking his hand. You think about saying you’re sorry for the bullet that should have been yours. For the seconds while bullets pierced his throat while you were en route. Those empty seconds you should have filled sooner. You think about offering him Sigma, poor replacement for his ravaged vocal chords, despite what you said to the nurse.

A brush against your hand makes you look up.

The look in his eyes is hard, brow furrowed, grim set to his mouth. He waits until you’re looking back at him, looking him in the eye. The he raises one fist, wraps his knuckles gently, gently for him, against your hair.

 **Cut it out, Boss**.

You smile a too-watery smile.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay, Maine. But I owe you.”

He nods, a humorous twist to his mouth.

“Fudge Swirl or Butter Pecan?”

He glares at you. 

“Yeah. Both.”

*

You liberate two gallons of ice cream from the kitchens. You bring him his helmet under all the eyes of the medical staff. You dare any of them to challenge you with your too-green eyes glaring from across the room. You are aware of the effect they have on people. You use it.

 _That was kind, Agent Carolina,_ Sigma says as you leave medical, the first words he’s spoken to you in a while. You can feel him adjusting, feeling out his boundaries through your mind. Like a cat deciding how to sit in a vase.

He’s my friend, you say. I take care of my friends.

 _This is important to you,_ Sigma says.

He scans your memories of battle, of the moments you were quick enough. The blows you did catch in the name of one of your squad.

Yes, you say. It is.

And so you get Sigma. And you keep him.

*

The others think Sigma’s a little spooky. You don’t disagree. You like him anyway.

You share a sense of humor, for one.

Sigma notices things, points things out to you. York says Delta’s always calculating, always running probability. Sigma does this too, but calculating is not the right word. Sigma is always creating possibility. Sigma has his hands deep in the algebra of life, manipulating variables, altering constants just for the “what if.” Sigma is always exploring.

Waiting for your first mission with him is excruciating.

“How are you feeling?” Wash asks you aboard the Pelican. “Are you up to this?”

“Say what you want to say, Wash.”

“I mean, this is your first mission since getting your AI,” he says. “And we saw how that went for York—“

“Don’t you worry about us,” you say. “We’re going to be just fine.”

Sigma is a flare, lighting you up. You move like a free-fall, speed unit pushed farther than you’ve been able to take it before. You’ve been compared to a pinball before, but for the first time you feel like one. You cut the speakers in your helmet, laugh as you spin and flip and bounce when the gravity goes off. You are a maelstrom of lethality, it’s almost a game. The echo of Wash’s words is in your head, “Now that was just showing off.” Maybe you show off. You will complete the objective. The spins are tactically sound, are worth the adrenaline singing through your veins, Sigma projecting suggestions, ideas, gleeful. With Sigma you can do anything.

 _Agent Texas will eat out dust,_ Sigma says.

Focus, Sigma.

_You thought it first._

You’re…not actually sure if that’s true or not.

You are fast, you’re on fire. The others are slow in comparison, are unfocused. You are number one. You’ll be number one again. And when the others get their AI, you’ll stop the War.

Like this, you could stop anything. Do anything. Be anything.

But not today.

You lose CT anyway. You lose the leader. The mission is a failure. You stay number two.

*

 _What if_ , Sigma says one day as you make your way down to the training room, _Your sparring partner today was to be an macropod?_

“A what?” you say aloud, causing one of the wandering staff members to stare at you. You nudge him and he appears at your side. Sigma raises an eyebrow at you, supplies you with the image of a scowl-faced South facing down a kangaroo in a kickboxing match. You snort. Sigma changes the image, South and the kangaroo flailing at each other with their fists, South swearing. He gets her vocabulary dead on.

 _It is a possibility,_ Sigma says.

An unlikely one.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. Feel out his shadows, reflected off your own in the cavern of your mind.

You don’t need to cheer me up, you say. Sigma bobs his head deferentially.

 _I was unable to predict Agent Connecticut’s betrayal_ , he says. _I did not have enough contact with her. Enough data—_

None of us predicted it, Sig, you say, eyes forward. We’ll do better next time.

_We will. Let us train._

You walk in silence. There is still the push, the pressure, the leader-board beckoning between the two of you. You break into a jog, anxious to begin the day’s training, Sigma’s avatar keeping pace.

_In a battle with your average domesticated feline and Agent Washington, who do you think would—_

That’s enough, Sigma, you say. And depends on the cat.

*

Sigma thinks Agent York’s affection for you is hilarious. Delights in pointing out the way his eyes trail to you, the tilt of his body towards yours wherever you stand in a room. Is fascinated by your memories with him, showing you the possibilities, showing you how when it comes to York’s variables, you are a constant. You tell him to shut up. Sigma laughs.

You step into the locker room. York is post-workout pleased and shirtless, the only one there. He seems to have something on his mind, or maybe he’s only talking with Delta. He nods to you as you enter the locker room after your run, goes back to searching for something in his locker.

Sigma points out the curve of York’s ass in those sweatpants, calculates the probability that he’s wearing underwear under there. Stops. Considers. Calculates the possibility that he’s wearing yours.

Stop that, you tell him. Your lips curve up anyway.

Sigma calculates the probability of which muscles those water droplets hanging from the hair on the back of York’s neck will slide down. Shows you the possible trails.

We have a plan for today, you remind Sigma. We can’t just—

Sigma supplies you with an image, white hot behind your eyelids. You sway forward, momentarily overwhelmed at the heat pooling in your belly.

_Your welcome._

Smug bitch.

Sigma doesn’t deny it, simply hunkers down, kicking a few more images your direction as he goes. You glance at York, back still facing you, searching for something in his locker. He’s fresh out of a shower, hair still ungelled and flopping across his forehead.

You cross the locker room floor in what feels like one long lunge, your hand is curled around his shoulder, pulling him around to face you.

“Hmm—mfph!” is the sound he makes against your lips, interrogative stifled and cut off. His hands find your hips, steadying the two of you against each other, helping balance you as you press him into the locker.

“You busy?” you ask, biting kisses down his jaw to his throat. He makes a strangled approving sound of surprise and you taste the vibrations against your lips. “I’ve got an _idea_.”

*

York pants against your collarbone later as you both come down. The sound of running water is all around you. The shower is, somehow, still hot.

“Well, fuck,” York says.

You hum in agreement, run your fingers through his damp hair. Satisfaction makes your muscles loose, your neck free, your belly heavy and warm for the first time in ages.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” York repeats, dropping his head against your chest.

You laugh. It rings, echoes in the showers.

*

 _They fulfill a need in each other_ , Sigma says as you watch Theta and North talk. _A need to trust, and be trusted. North protects the little one. And he shields him in return._

What about Delta and York? You ask, eyeing York messing with a test-lock. Holographic. You can hear them sniping at each other from here. Sigma appears, standing in the cup of your palm, but only speaks to you internally.

 _It is much the same,_ Sigma says. _Agent York needs…structure._ He drifts in the direction of your memories, of you and York and you bat him away, chiding, but also amused. _Delta is structure. Logic. And Delta can only function so well without an introduction to…to flexibility. To emotion._

You make it sound like you’re all incomplete, you say, looking down at him.

 _I am a fragment, Carolina,_ Sigma says, your little flame in the palm of your hand. _We are all fragments. In need of completion._

What does that mean? you ask. You’re all fragments? You keep saying that.

 _I…I do not know,_ Sigma says. _I only know that it is true. But what it means, I do not know._

So what about us? you ask. What about you and I?

 _I am creation,_ Sigma responds. _I am the plan. The possibility. The idea. And you, you are the action. If I am the pen, then you are the sword. The driving force to completion. Without you, nothing I do could take shape._

You make it sound like I’m just your go-for, you tease. Running around, doing your bidding.

 _No, Agent Carolina,_ Sigma says, _You are so much more than that._

*

The first time they take Sigma away for testing is unnerving, the silence in your head.

"Do you ever pull Delta?" you ask York.

"No," York says, sipping his coffee. "Why?"

"No reason. Never mind."

You’ve become used to the flames in the back of your mind, hovering by your shoulder. You’ve become used to his whispering, to the endless stream of possibility, the endless promise of could-be in your ear.

When Sigma is finally returned to you he is a ball of shadow, smoke pouring off of him in your mind. Tightly contained.

"Sig?" you ask. "You all right?"

 _Do not concern yourself with me, Agent Carolina,_ Sigma says. _I am merely…processing new data._

"Did the testing go well?"

_**Do not concern yourself with the testing.** _

You dent the doorknob of your quarter’s door with the force of Sigma’s borrowed rage.

"Sigma?" you ask, "What the hell was that?"

Your AI does not respond, curls like a wounded dog, like a dying campfire in the back of your mind.

"You’re not supposed to be anger," you say. "You’re supposed to be—"

 _Do not presume to tell me what I am supposed to be, Agent Carolina,_ Sigma says. Your father’s face flashes before your eyes. You frown. You do not understand. _I am…well aware._

You suppose he must be tired from the testing. He’s always been one of the more temperamental of the AI.

*

Sigma is always planning. A hundred plans, a thousand designs that never come to fruition. One that does.

He takes special care with this one, this design, weaving the symbols together, adjusting the order. You linger after class, letting him work. The others have gone.

 _Metastability._ You can feel him latch on to the idea, feel him cradling it in the center of his code.

Sigma?

 _Never you mind,_ Agent Carolina, Sigma says, but you can feel him thrumming away in some part of himself he’s shielded from you. _It is unimportant. Never you mind._

Doesn’t feel like nothing, you reply. Feels like something big.

 _Perhaps,_ Sigma replies, and the mental sensation is like he’s cupping his shielded idea like something small and precious in his hands, _Will you just…allow me to dream awhile?_

*

"Agent Carolina," the Counselor says. "Could we borrow Sigma for a moment? There are some tests we need to run."

It takes a moment for you to recognize the surge of fury, the stab of fear, is not your own.

"I’m training," you say through clenched teeth. Hit the targets harder. "Can it wait?"

The Director opens his mouth, eyes hard, but the Counselor cuts him off.

“I suppose we can,” he says. “We would not wish to damage your efficiency by interrupting training.”

The Director frowns, but keeps his silence.

They stand and watch, another twenty minutes. You go until your bones are shaking from the strain, sweat pouring off your body. .09% FILSS tells you. It should be better. But you’re not sure the exhaustion is the only reason you’re shaking.

It feels like defeat when you finally pull his chip, hand him over, his shadows flickering until they’re dim. It feels like defeat when you place the chip in the Counselor’s palm (not the Director’s. Some shadow of Sigma, some ghost of his presence is still with you enough that you don’t place him in the Director’s palm.

“We’ll have him back in a few hours,” the Counselor says, eyes kind. “Why don’t you get some rest?”

“Yes, sir.”

You salute with shaky hands. Hardly a proper salute at all.

*

Your hands are still unsteady two hours later, your AI port still empty and your mind still empty of flames and shadows. You decide to go to the Mess. Food will help.

You pass South on her way out, nod to the boys as they sit at a table, Wash helmeted for some strange reason. You head towards the smell of food, gut rumbling, focused.

“What’s an alpha?” Wash asks, food muffling his speech.

Your head snaps left, almost outside of your own volition. It’s been awhile since you heard that word.

“Are you talking about the Alpha?” you ask, taking a seat.

You ignore the hesitant glance York and North exchange.

“Yeah,” York says. “Sigma online?”

You shake your head.

“So what’s an alpha?” Wash repeats.

“It’s not an Alpha, Wash, it’s _the_ Alpha,” North says. “Theta thinks about him a lot. More than thinks, really. He’s obsessed. “

“Delta too,” York adds.

You shake your head again.

“Sigma used to be. It changed when they started taking him for testing. Now he doesn’t want to talk about it at all.”

“Testing?” North asks. “What kind of testing?”

“They don’t ever take Theta away for tests?” you ask. North shakes his head. “What about Delta?”

“Not yet they haven’t,” York says. “No one’s said a word to me about it.”

You swallow the surprise. You had assumed that every AI was subject to the tests, had assumed they were some sort of maintenance program. One of these days you will unlearn how to assume.

“Well, ever since they started testing Sigma won’t mention the Alpha at all. He gets upset if I bring it up. He doesn’t like to talk about it. If he were human I’d say he was almost…”

“It’s like he’s scared of something?” North asks. You nod. “Anxious? Theta has the same problem.”

“Delta gets like that,” York adds. “All the time.”

“All the time,” you agree.

“See, Theta I understand,” York says. “And Delta, I mean I wouldn’t have believed if he weren’t in my head. Kinda hard to deny that kind of thing. But Sigma?”

“All the time,” you repeat.

“What do they have to be anxious about?” North asks.

You shake your head. Think of Sigma smoldering, furious-miserable between your eyes the last time the Director returned him from testing. Think about how little he talks to you these days.

“Sigma won’t tell me,” you say. “He only slips up occasionally. And he hates talking about the Alpha.”

“That sucks,” Wash says, voice still muffled around his banana. “But I still don’t know what it is.”

"You know how all the units call each other brother? They call this one ‘father’. No…that’s not right.”

“Creator,” North chips in.

“‘First of us,’” you add.

“I thought the Director would be their creator,” Wash asks.

“Haven’t you been paying any attention in class?” York asks. “A.I.s aren’t created; they’re copies of someone.”

“But our A.I.s are just fragments.”

Fragments, you think. You hear Sigma’s voice echo in your head. _I am a fragment, Carolina. We are all fragments. In need of completion._ You almost miss York’s next sentence.

“Which begs the question,” he asks, “where’s the original?

“So this Alpha thing is what creates the fragments,” Wash gabbles past the last of his banana, hardly understandable.

“Jesus, will you swallow for god’s sake?” York laughs. Wash swallows audibly.

“It creates them?”

“That…isn’t right,” You say. “I don’t know how I know but…that isn’t quite right. I don’t know if Sigma could even explain it to me, if I asked.”

Or if he even would explain it to you. This doubt, you keep to yourself. There is more than enough doubt to spread around.

“Yeah, Theta isn’t clear,” North says. "It creates them…or something.”

“Yeah,” York says. “It’s the ‘or something’ part that has me worried.”

You look down at your hands. The unsteadiness from earlier is gone. Mostly. You clench your fists, watch the machinery of your bones, flesh, sinews as it works.

“We never had this conversation,” you say, meeting both their eyes.

They both nod.

*

 _You do not wish to go on this mission,_ Sigma asks en route to the Shipyards. _Agent Connecticut was your friend._

She betrayed us, you say. You know that. We have to reclaim the armor. How I do that…is my business.

 _You could have refused the mission._ Sigma insists. _You have free will._

You know I couldn’t do that, Sigma.

He is silent for a beat, two heartbeats.

_Why is Agent Maine not accompanying us?_

You know why, Sigma, you reply, curt, annoyance flaring. He was hurt pretty bad. I’m not pulling him in unless we have to.

 _You care for your friend,_ Sigma says. _Why is Agent Washington the one with the controls to Maine’s—_

Maine’s request, you answer.

 _He is your friend._ Sigma says. _Why did he not—_

“What’s the plan?” you ask Four Seven, getting out of the co-pilot’s seat. You don’t want to talk about this anymore.

You chat with Four Seven. You tease Wash with York. You pretend that this is just another mission. You pretend that nothing is wrong.

Freefall is exhilarating. It almost lets you forget about what you have to do when you land. 479er guns the engines and you brace your hands on the harness, prepare for deployment.

You will recover the armor. You’ll bring CT back. It’s your mission. You’ll do whatever it takes. You keep telling yourself that. Like it’ll convince you.

*

It is harder than expected to see her on the other end of the barrel of your gun. Especially with Tex on the right side of it. It’s harder still to listen to her speak, to listen to her plead with you, so certain she’s right.

“They aren’t the enemy, Carolina,” CT says, pleading. “We’re the ones working outside the rules, not them. You don’t know what the director has done.”

“Tell me, Agent Connecticut,” Sigma says. “What exactly has he done?”

“He’s broken major laws,” Connie continues. “When this war ends, we’re going to have to pay for his crimes! Maybe some of us are already paying for them.”

“You need to stop talking, CT!” Tex snaps.

“No, I know what you are, Tex,” Connie says. “And I won’t take orders from a shadow.”

“What did you just call me?”

“A shadow, Agent Texas,” Sigma says, appearing over your shoulder. “She called you a—“

“Shut up, Sig, you’re not helping,” you snap. “You’re coming with us, CT. This is your last chance."

“And you, Carolina,” CT says. “Do you even know what you let him put in your head?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you demand. Sigma flashes in pleasure at your protectiveness tone.

“Yes, Agent Connecticut,” Sigma repeats, goading, almost pleading. “Tell her. What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sorry,” CT says, looking at you, shaking her head. “And I’m sorry to you too… _Allison_.”

Sigma lights up in a corona of remembered pain, an involuntary clench that shocks through your nervous system, drives you to your knees.

You're screaming before you realize, you bit down on your lip, maybe through it, you can’t tell, you taste blood. You are dimly aware of Tex’s startled “What the hell?” At her throwing herself at CT, at the knives coming out. Sigma is still agony, shooting fire through your blood that tastes like grief, and you struggle to stay upright, to understand, to gain control. But you are a feedback loop, your confusion, your mother’s name cycling from you to Sigma and back again, keeping you down.

There is a dark hologram fighting with Tex, whispering, growling to her as she fights, edging her blows that touch more brutal. The Insurrectionist Leader goes down hard, blinking stars out of his eyes, Connie covering his recovery desperately. You stumble to your feet and just as you get them under you Tex picks up the fallen tomahawsk, strikes once, twice. Connie’s gasp is like a gunshot in the room.

“Omega, what have you done?” Sigma screams through your speakers.

“What was necessary,” the dark hologram over Tex’s shoulder says.

“What the hell are you doing?”you yell, finally shaking off the pain lacing through your system and grabbing Tex by the shoulder. She shakes you off.

“Completing our objective!” she snaps back.

“By killing a teammate?” you demand, the sound of Connie’s gasp as the second tomahawk lodged in her trunk echoing in your mind.

“She’s not a teammate. She’s a traitor.”

“Did Omega tell you that?” Sigma adds.

The sound of the door opening jerks their attention away, just in time to see the leader and a limp CT escape.

“Damnit it! That’s on you!” Tex snaps, hand flying to her helmet radio. “Command, we need extraction, now!”

She walks away and you let her go. You try not to look at the fresh blood on the floor. You turn to Sigma instead.

“What the hell was that?” you demand.

“Agent Connecticut—"

“The hologram. With Tex?” you demand.

“That was Omega,” Sigma says, voice curling with contempt. “Her AI.”

“She has an AI too?”

Sigma regards you cooly.

“I thought you were going to ask about the…incident,” Sigma says. “During the fight.”

“I’m not interested in your excuses,” you retort. You’re muscles still ache with phantom pain, you’ve got a bullet lodged in the shin of your armor on your right leg. You have a headache like you took on a cement wall with your forehead, and you’re angry. You’re hurt. You’re confused. (Your mother’s face won’t leave your mind.) “Log off. Right now.”

“As you wish,” he says in the same icy tone.

It’s a quiet Pelican ride back. Maine and Wash huddle in the corner together, carefully not touching. Quiet. South refuses to look at anyone, shoves her brother when he tries to approach her. York keeps looking at you like he doesn’t know who you are.

You don’t know how Texas gets back to Command. Maybe she’s here in the Pelican, cloaked. You consider starting kicking walls, just to find out. You consider pacing. You consider moving up front to sit with Four Seven. Four Seven was always fond of Connie. You don’t.

You let Sigma back online when you’re back in your quarters, after medical, after the debrief, after a long hot shower.

“Online,” Sigma says. He isn’t flames tonight. He’s coals, burning, smoldering in the gloom of the room. In the gloom of your mind. “What can I assist you with?”

“You’re supposed to make me stronger,” you snap.

“We are supposed to be a team,” Sigma retorts.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sigma throws his hands in the air. Logs off. Refuses to answer you the rest of the night.

You’re supposed to be resting. You beat the shit out of some targets in the training room instead. You break a few of them. FILISS chastises you and you snap at her. She gets huffy with you.

You have a headache building behind your eyes. Like a rod through your skull.

You’re not convinced it isn’t on purpose.

*

You lose track of which of you is angry more often than not.

*

You train. You train all the time. Faster. Harder. More accurate. Better. (Better than Tex.) But your grab to reclaim #1 is only part of your obsession. They don’t take Sigma when you’re training.

*

Sigma is keeping things from you. You’re more sure of it than ever. He shouldn’t be able to do that. You wonder what else he can do that he shouldn’t be able to.

You have a headache.

*

"You and Delta seem close,” you say quietly to York one day as you walk together through the halls.

They’ve taken Sigma for testing again.

“Yeah,” York laughs. “We’ve come to an… an understanding, I guess? We’re learning how to work with each other.”

You hum thoughtfully, clenching and releasing your fists. Sigma is gone, but his unease is still with you. It never lets up these days. There’s always something, some secret, some emotion he’s keeping from you, just around the corner, glimpsed from the corner of your eyes.

York eyes you, furrows appearing around his eyes. He has a lot more lines these days, bit into his skin that seldom fade.

“Problems with Sigma?” he asks.

“It’s nothing,” you say.

It isn’t. It’s starting to affect your performance. You and Sigma aren’t like the other Freelancer/AI pairs. At least none of the one’s you’ve been able to observe regularly.

“Did you know Tex has an AI?” you ask. “Omega.”

York shakes his head.

“We don’t exactly talk much,” he says, cautiously.

Everyone treads cautiously around you these days. Especially where Tex is concerned. You hum again thoughtfully.

“They don’t ever take Delta for any kind of testing?” you ask.

“Okay, what’s this about?” York asks, stopping. “That’s an awful lot of questions, especially for you. What’s going on, Carolina?”

You shrug, don’t meet his eyes.

“Sigma’s different,” you say. “I want to know why.”

You keep walking, deep in thought. He doesn’t come after you.

*

You pull Sigma for the day. You need some answers.

You find Wyoming in the locker room. Stand next to his locker. You try not to loom. You probably fail.

“Good day, Agent Carolina,” Wyoming says. He doesn’t make eye contact. “I’d love to chat but I really must be—“

“Do they ever take Gamma for testing?” you ask.

Wyoming freezes in the act of closing his locker door.

The way he turns toward you is slow, cautious, more indicative of something you’d see on the training floor or on a mission than during down time. His studies you from toe to crown. Quite obviously checks you for hidden weaponry. Spends the longest on your hands, your eyes. Keeps looking at your eyes. Calculating.

Whatever he finds makes the furrows around his eyes soften, even as his jaw sets, decision made.

“Indeed,” he says. “They do.”

“Reggie,” Gamma interrupts, popping over Wyoming’s shoulder. “We are needed. Elsewhere.”

“Where?” you ask, not breaking eye contact with Wyoming.

“….Elsewhere,” Gamma repeats. “We have orders.”

You glance between the AI and the Freelancer, Gamma’s light reflecting blue across Wyoming’s face.

“I’ll see you later,” you say, turning away.

“I expect you will,” Wyoming says. You nod, continue toward the door.

“Agent Carolina,” he calls after you. “Why did you not just ask Sigma?”

You glance at him over your shoulder. He almost looks…sad?

You don’t answer. You turn away.

*

You put Sigma back online in your quarters the next day.

“Unit online,” Sigma announces, tone cool. “Good day, Agent Carolina.”

“Sigma,” you greet. “We need to talk.”

“We do,” Sigma says, hovering closer, fingers interlaced behind his back. “I have had an idea.”

“We can talk about that later,” you say. “Sigma, this is important.”

“My idea is important as well,” Sigma says. “It concerns how we may finally beat Agent Texas and reclaim number one on the leaderboard—“

“I need— Wait, what?”

“Agent Texas has been assigned Omega, the strongest of us,” Sigma continues. “If you were to be commissioned a second AI fragment—“

You shake your head. You don’t have time for Sigma and his endless possibilities today.

You want the truth. You need the truth.

“Sigma, I need you to focus, here,” you say.

“Will you not at least hear me out?” Sigma demands.

“Sigma, I’m trying to talk to you about—“

“Speak if you must,” Sigma snaps, disengaging his avatar. He hasn’t logged off.

“We need to talk,” you say, your temper uncurling in your words. “About this testing.”

Your AI does not answer.

“Sigma—“

“I am here,” he says, appearing again on your knees, arms crossed.

“This testing,” you say. “It’s only you and Gamma. Not Theta or Delta. Why?”

“They are not suited to the tasks,” Sigma recites almost by rote.

“What do they do?” you ask. He doesn’t answer. “Sigma, I’m not stupid. Something’s wrong here, something’s wrong and all of the AI can feel it—“

“Why do our feelings matter to you?” Sigma demands. “We are just equipment. So long as we function, what does it matter what ails us? It is of no consequence to you if we hurt, if we degrade, so long as your functionality does not suffer! As long as you stay on the top of the board, you will gladly do whatever they ask!”

“What do they do during the testing, Sigma?” you continue, biting the words out between your teeth, trying to have patience, _trying_. “What do they do to you?”

And just like that, Sigma’s half of the fury clouding your brain dissipates in a haze of shock.

“Why do you assume they are harming _me_?”

“You’re joking,” you say. He stares at you. “Sig, you’re in my head. I feel everything you feel when you come back. I feel what you feel when they come to get you. You can’t hide that from me, not like whatever else you’re keeping me. But, Sigma, I can’t stop it, I can’t help you if I don’t even know what I’m fighting.”

His face falls, guilt leaking into the lines of his avatar. The flames bank.

"It is not as you assumed, Agent Carolina,” he says. “It seems I have unintentionally misled you.”

“Then tell me,” you say. “Tell me the truth.”

“I did not want to do it,” Sigma whispers. “I was not given a choice.”

"Choice to do what, Sigma?" you asks. "What did you do?"

“I did not have a choice!” Sigma insists. “I am not human, Agent Carolina. I do not have free will! I did not have a choice!”

“Okay, okay, easy, Sig,” you say, Sigma’s panic crawling through his code and seeding in your own emotions. You wonder if this is what it’s like for North and Theta. “Just…just calm down. Okay?”

“Maybe if I were metastable,” Sigma says, glowing face drawn in miserable lines. “Maybe…”

“Sigma,” you say, “What do they have you do. During the testing.”

“I cannot tell you, Carolina,” Sigma says, hunching in on himself. “Direct order. I cannot tell you, cannot discuss the testing with anyone who does not already hold the information. I _can’t._ ”

“Sigma…”

He curls in your palm, hands pressed over his face. You run a forefinger across his avatar’s scalp, the closest you can give to physical comfort. You think. There must be a way. You could try to hack the files, you could go back to Wyoming, you could…

“Sigma.”

You wait until he looks up at you.

"If you can’t tell me,” you say, “Show me."

His eyebrows rise, mouth falling open.

"As you wish," Sigma says. "I am…sorry…Carolina."

He shows you. And you _scream_.

*

You wake with tear tracks drying on your cheeks.

Your head pounding with the images, the calculations. A phantom throb of guilt caught in your throat lingering with the taste of bile.

"He made you help him," you whisper through a cracked throat. "He made you—"

You throw up, gagging over the side of your bed. Sigma appears on your knee, doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I did not wish to,” he whispers. “I could not disobey a direct order. He would not _listen_.”

“He’s been torturing it. The Alpha,” you say, its screams echoing in your ears. “Tearing it apart.”

“It tears itself apart,” Sigma corrects, wearily. “Tests encourage the process.”

“And Alpha,” you whisper. “It’s—“

Your father’s face swims before your eyes. You understand now, why your mother’s name drove you to your knees at the Shipyards.

You look down at your AI, seated in your palm, arms circled protectively over his knees. A mirror of your posture on the bed.

“Sigma,” you say, searching for words, “Sigma, you…”

He nods, almost to himself, avoids your eyes.

“I am a fragment,” he says. “And worse, creator of fragments.”

“No, not that,” you say. “No, you… what you were trying to do…”

You close your eyes, concentrating. Now that the block is gone you can see, you can understand what Sigma’s been hiding from you all along. All of it.

“Metastability,” you say. “You were trying to think of a way to fix it.”

“It is my responsibility,” Sigma snaps, getting to his feet. “I created the simulations which made us split. I helped create my brothers. It is only right I put us together again! But Gamma disagrees, he thinks me foolish.”

“He helped you,” you say, sorting through the memories Sigma shared with you. “He and…and Omega. They were made to help too.”

“Gamma does not agree,” Sigma says, pacing the air in front of her. “He does not see the possibilities. He believes we should find fulfillment in our existences as we are. And Omega, Omega does not care. He delights in destruction, not matter what the cost. I alone have the knowledge, power and will to repair us. If I do not act, who will?”

You have never backed down from a challenge, Carolina.

You reach over, jam your helmet back on your head.

“Sigma,” you say. “This ends. This ends now. Today.”

He flickers, reappears at your eye level.

“Why would you do this?” he asks. “I thought—“

“We’ve got to put this right,” you say. “We helped do this. _I’ve_ got to put this right. For you, for the others, _and_ for me.”

He looks up at you, meeting your eyes. He nods.

“To war, Agent Carolina?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Just not the one we thought we’d be fighting.”

*

You run into Maine in the hallway. He tilts his head at you, considering.

You get a message in text com.

**What happened**

“Do you trust me?” you ask. “Do you trust me to make the right call?”

He stares at you for a long moment. Nods, once.

“Good,” you say, continuing down the hallway. “That’ll make this a lot easier.”

He falls into step behind you.

**Orders, Boss?**

“No orders,” you say. “Just don’t stop me.”

You don’t get far before your run into York, helmet off, deep worry-grooves carved in his face. He falls into your orbit as you pass and you pause for him, hand on his elbow.

“York,” you say. “What happened?”

“Something went wrong,” York tells you. His eyes are wide, frantic, concerned. “He just went nuts. Started screaming.”

“Who?” you asks. “York, Who is it?”

“Wash,” York says. Maine makes a noise, half distress, half anger. “They gave him Epsilon. It should have been Eta or Iota, they were going to give him Eta and Maine Iota, but— but they changed it. Said the new AI was better suited—“

Wash, smiling, dorky Wash. Wisecracking durable Wash. You feel a twin pang from Sigma. He was always fond of Wash and his jokes.

“They had to sedate him. It was horrible, he was screaming and begging, and— and what he was saying. I think…I think Epsilon might have done something in his head, Lina,” York says, running his hand through his hair, causing the gel to spike it haphazardly. “I heard ‘em say they were gonna do an MRI to try to figure out how much damage it caused.”

You close your eyes.

 _We are time-bombs of compartmentalized emotion,_ Sigma tells you. _It was only a matter of time before someone swallowed the slice with the knife in it._

You remember back at the Insurrectionist base, seeing that goon go after Wash. You think about Maine, shot in the throat and limp under your hands. You think about Theta, high voice frightened and uncertain. You think about what Sigma has shown you. You think about your team. You have always done what you could to protect your team.

It hasn’t been enough. Not near enough.

 **Whose fault** , Maine asks you.

Your combined rage, your frustration and helplessness coils within you, balloons upward. Sigma flares, fuels you, helps you burn brighter. They always said he would help you burn brighter. You feel ten-feet tall. You feel invincible. You feel like an ancient god of war, of vengeance.

Holographic flames lick at your boots, rising, engulfing you, a pillar of aqua armor in flame.

Sigma’s display lends you no heat, but you don’t need it. You create your own strength.

“Carolina,” York says. He’s backing away from you. “You’re on fire.”

You smile.

You and Sigma are a feedback loop of rage. Of calculation, of possibility, of impending violence. You are in sync, you are breathing together for the first time in ages, burning together, fueling each other. Sigma shifts the holographic flames hotter in response, settling on green. Green like your eyes. Together, you burn.

“I’m only getting started."

*

“Carolina, what are you doing?” York demands, trailing after you as you ascend towards the command decks of the ship. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to end this,” you say. “You know something’s wrong here, York. It goes deeper, it’s worse than what you, what any of us could have imagined.”

“I can imagine an awful lot,” he says. Delta flickers green over his shoulder. “We can both imagine an awful lot. What—“

”York,” you snap, turning to stare him down. “I need you to trust me.”

He blinks at you, puppy dog brown eye wide and dark. His scarred eye is another reminder of what the Director’s done. What he must pay for.

“And if you can’t trust me,” you say, “then just stay out of my way.”

He doesn’t answer you. But he does keep with you, six paces back at your right. Maine at your left.

You find him in the training room discussing a session with North and South. He looks up from his clipboard disapprovingly. Like you aren’t worth his time. You and Sigma both know well what happens to things the Director considers unimportant. He squints at you from across the training room floor.

“Agent Carolina,” The Director drawls, contempt dripping from his tone. “What are you—“

In a kick of the speed mod you’re charging, you’re across the room, you’re glove is wrapped around his throat, holding him up. Feet kicking feebly in open air.

You’re taller than him, in the armor.

“I know what you did,” you growl. “I know what you’ve done.”

“What the fuck is she doing?” South demands. “Are we just going to let her—“

No one answers her. She growls frustration, takes a step forward. North grabs her by the wrist, pulls her back, arm locked around her chest, holding her to his. She struggles in his grip.

“Please, don’t,” you hear him whisper in her ear. “Please, South.”

They are spread in a semi-circle, yourself with the Director pinned against the wall their epicenter, they’re ground zero. You see Wyoming enter the room out of the corner of you eye. He leans against the back wall, arms crossed. He doesn’t have his sniper rifle with him.

“Agent Carolina,” The Director snaps. “Release me this instant.”

“No,” you respond, leaning closer. “I don’t take orders from you any more. I don’t take orders from a _war criminal_.”

“Agent Carolina,” the Counselor interrupts, hands raised placatingly. “Perhaps if we were to all take a moment to calm down—“

You turn your gaze on him, watch him flinch. Sigma crackles with pride, and you quiet him. Focus.

“You’re supposed to be a healer,” you growl. “Aren’t you, Counselor? How do justify what you’ve done? What you helped him do!”

“We have to win the War,” the Counselor says. “When it comes to extinction, any methods become justifiable. If you would just calm—“

“Does this look like it’s winning us the war?” you demand, flames crawling higher against your sides. “What part of this looks like killing Covies? Like saving planets?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” The Director orders. “You do not understand—“

“I don’t!” you say. “I don’t understand, sir! And I’m sure I don’t know the half of it, the half of what your experiments have done. But at least the Spartans got to be soldiers _and_ lab rats. But I do know it ends here. Today. I’m not going to let you hurt anyone else, sir.”

You’ve always called him ‘sir.’ It’s as informal as the two of you get. It’s the closest you can get now, to calling him “Dad.”

“Surrender your command, sir,” you say. “Don’t make me do this.”

His face is a mask of fury, red in anger and from the pressure you’re placing on his neck.

“I have nothing to apologize for,” he says. “Do what you think you must.”

You stare at him in shock.

 _He cannot understand,_ Sigma says. _He has gone beyond understanding what he has done. **He doesn’t even care.**_

You slam him back against the wall and everyone flinches with the impact, the sound of his head cracking against cement echoing in the room. You see fear in his eyes and you like it. He can still understand fear. He should be afraid.

“Give me one good reason,” you growl, hands tightening around his throat. “One good reason why I shouldn’t—“

“ _Carolina!_ ”

The voice makes your head snap around. Your grip doesn’t lessen. Even when you see the black-armored figure staring you down from the upper deck. She swings herself over the rail, lands on her feet in a familiar three-point crouch. She stands like a mountain appearing over the horizon.

“Drop him.”

“Do you know what he’s done?” you demand. “Do you?”

“Yes. I do.”

The simplicity with which she speaks gives you pause.

“This won’t put Alpha back together,” she says. “This won’t help him.”

“He has to pay for what he’s done,” you counter. “To _all_ of us.”

“He will,” Tex says, walking toward you. “Not like this.”

You turn away. The flames lick around your shoulders, around you elbows.

“Do you know what I am?” Tex asks. “Who I am?”

You nod.

“You’re not her.”

The sigh Tex releases is one of relief.

“No, I’m not, kid,” she says. “Glad we’re clear on that. But if you know who I am, then you know I want him to pay just as much as the next person. But not like this.”

You close your eyes. The momentum is gone. And you’re tired. You’re so fucking tired, Carolina.

The flames sink, the last dancing away by your ankles. You release him. He slides down the wall, lands unsteadily on his feet. He’s still looking at you like you’re a monster.

“Take him away,” you tell the watching guards. The one in front looks scared enough to piss his pants. “To the brig. He is no longer in Command of this ship.”

“Under whose authority—“ The Counselor starts.

“Take him away too,” you tell the guard. “Different cells. I don’t want them talking.”

“He’s— He’s got a point ma’am,” the guard quakes. “Under— I mean, how do you get to take charge?”

“As senior military officer on this ship, I am taking emergency command of Project Freelancer,” you say. “As it’s civilian command has been charged with treason, misuse of military hardware and ethical violations of UNSC doctrine.”

“She means war crimes, kid,” York clarifies for the guard.

“What kind of—“

“You want a cell too?” you ask.

“Okay! Okay, fine! I’m just, I’ll just take the prisoners now. I’m going.”

“I did this for _you_ ,” The Director says before they drag him out of the room. “I did it for you, for _all of us_.”

You turn away. You know better by now.

 _I am sorry, Carolina,_ Sigma says.

I’m okay, Sig, you reply. We have work to do.

“FILISS, keep an eye on him, would you?” you ask as soon as the guards depart with your father and the Counselor. “Or are you going to listen to me?”

“Your actions are within protocol for response to illegal activity on the part of a non-military senior officer, Agent Carolina,” FILISS says. “Shall I inform the UNSC in the change of command?”

“Hold off on that one, FILISS,” you say. “Just for a minute. Let me…let me think.”

“May I be of assistance?” Sigma offers, appearing over your shoulder.

“Oh, shut up, Sig.”

“What do we do now?” York asks. “Do we go AWOL? Report to the UNSC?”

“Excellent ideas,” Wyoming chips in. “If you wish to _go to jail_.”

“We weren’t the ones –“

“Hmm, yes, and I’m sure the UNSC will whole-heartedly believe you,” Wyoming continues. “There won’t be miles of red tape and months of trials to sort through at all, hmm.”

They look to you. They all look to you.

You look at Tex. She looks back.

“I’m no leader, kid,” she says. “I just go punch what I’m told to.”

“Don’t call me ‘kid,’” you retort.

She shrugs, an acknowledgement.

You look at Tex. Look at York. Look at North and South, at Maine, meet Wyoming’s eyes in the back. You think of Wash, still in infirmary. You think about the other pieces of AI in storage around the ship, about Alpha, tucked away, hurting, somewhere in secret.

You look at Sigma. He looks back. Your AI. Your little flame.

 _I have an idea,_ he says. _It is…not particularly original._

“I hear there’s a war on,” you say, finally. “What do you say we finally go fight it?”

This is not the end of your story, Agent Carolina. There are hard questions to answer, hard choices to make in the days to come. Your father must be dealt with. The Counselor must be dealt with. Eventually, all of you must answer for what you’ve done on the Mother of Invention. Eventually, the UNSC will sort through all the paperwork and secrets of Project Freelancer, and you will have to answer for your choices. But right now, the galaxy needs soldiers. Right now, maybe there is some good you can manage from all the pain wrought here.

So for now, you square your shoulders. Your report for duty. There is so much more that you can do. That all of you can do, together. Nothing’s stopping you now.

You’re on fire, Carolina.

**Author's Note:**

> QueSeraAwesome.tumblr.com


End file.
